Lazarus and the Rich Man

Lazarus was praying ever so eagerly for the rain to stop. Every drop of the cold liquid incensed his wrinkled ragged neck of skin as the blind leper sighting his displeasure dangled her ringlet with delightful pleasure. Once the one-eyed raven on the chimney above the two shrieked and shrug off its wet feathers onto the cracks of the gutters, a gray leaflet was let out of it, slowly fluttering its way down the alley.
A woman, screaming with fear, stomped on the leaflet. "My baby!" she shout, as she halted next to the Lazarus and the leper, crying in agony. Neither party, drenched in rain, cared to prompt her. "She was stolen by a direwolf!" Again, her outcries went with no answer.
"She's probably a pile of ribs by now, torn apart by the entire hungry pack!" The leper remarked with a soaring laughter so loud that hit the clouds above them.
Lazarus irked. With heavy breaths, he stood and leaned against the unlit lamppost by him. "Shoo, you wicked old bitch!" He yelled with his rasped voice at the dangling leper "Rock your disfigured body out of my quarters!"
"At least I live by own mead instead of begging for shekels and scraps of bread. You old fool. You miserable being. May God have mercy upon your soul that is drenched in filth of a thousand rat droppings."
The leper stood her ground. "Does no soul care that my suckling infant was abducted by a wild beast?" The woman, still weeping, bursted.
"No soul cares of your demented bastard, whore. Three of us shall just march into hell, for we don't have it on earth, nor will we in Heaven." The leper spat on the mother. Lazarus, upset, groaned as he struggled against his stand, saying "Be it, young 'un. Your babe is probably deader than an ancient soul."
The woman kneeled and lay silent for a moment, before she moaned as did the one-eyed raven.
Momentarily, the three became motionless. A woman arrived with her company of stewards. She eerily looked away from the crowd, throwing but a few brass at them. She entered the house as her foremost steward bolted the gate shut behind her.
Inside the manor stood the rich man. Laughing, with a belly full of wine and another cupful ahold.
"Freya, my muse! How was your inquiry into the marketplace, dearest?"
She did not reply, only to take upstairs into her bedchamber. The rich man cringed, regressing his fine silk linen attire and staring into the darkness of his own abyss.
He digressed outside, into his garden of roses. All were tan in the dark, covered with droplets. Outside the gate stood Lazarus, himself about to crumble.
"Hungry, brother?" The rich man asked the begger.
"No, just Melancholic." Lazarus replied.
"Isn't this fine?"
"What is."
"This entire absolution."

...